


The Voice of an Angel

by memesf0r0ne



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: I had to write this, I was watching The Chosen and then the angels started singing and my brain fried, M/M, Other, and i love these two, it's so fucken majestic, no beta we saunter vaguely downwards like genderless supernatural entities, so this is how my somewhat homophobic religious family is helping my fanfics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 21:27:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20198431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memesf0r0ne/pseuds/memesf0r0ne
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley were often found together, but not constantly, not incessantly. They kept coming back, but for that to happen, they had to leave as well.When they moved in together, there were certainly new things to get used to.Some things were nice surprises, though.





	The Voice of an Angel

Aziraphale and Crowley were often found together, but not constantly, not incessantly. They kept coming back, but for that to happen, they had to leave as well.

When they moved in together, there were certainly new things to get used to. Crowley relieving stress by screaming at non-sentient plants, for instance; Aziraphale freaking out whenever his books were placed in any position where he couldn't protect them from fire, or worse, people who might dog-ear the pages.

They were new to the whole living-together thing, and needed their own beds, because Aziraphale tossed and turned, but once he fell asleep, he wouldn't move, except for the rising of his chest. Crowley, on the other hand, was the complete opposite ― an absolute hurricane. Unstoppable Force meets Immovable Object, and then at least one of them ended up on the floor.

Some things were nice surprises, though.

Crowley woke up in his bed, feeling rather cold and drowsy at the same time, and his face felt dry and crusty. A scent was distinguishable, not pleasant, but...endurable. And along with that;  _ sound _ .

He followed its source to the kitchen, where Aziraphale was wearing blue and off-white striped pyjamas and cooking. The sound coming from him was soft and melodious.

It wasn't humming or vocalizing, and yet it wasn't coherent. It was words, in no language, and yet every language, carrying a tune that was no less than angelic. Certainly, not even all the host of heaven could match this, though.

It was personal, private, and also a declaration to the world. Crowley had no idea what Aziraphale was saying, but was overwhelmed with a sense of...something unusual.

Perhaps, something adjacent to Aziraphale's sense of Tadfield.

He came up behind the angel, who was in the process of mutilating some eggs. Thin arms wrapped around a soft waist, and Aziraphale's voice held a smile. He had stopped singing.

"Good morning, my dear."

Crowley smiled, basking in the feeling that stretched between them and surrounded an infinite forever.

"G'morning, angel," Crowley sighed contentedly.


End file.
